


Fear of Fire

by xantissa



Series: Fear [3]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hated him for his cruelness, craved him like a drug, feared the ease with which he made me feel, the way only he could take me there to that place where the colors were sharp and my body alive with need… <br/>09-2005</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Fire

“Boy you got me doing things that I would never  
do  
And I can't stop the way I'm feeling if I wanted  
too  
I'm crazy bout the way that you could make me  
say your name  
And if I couldn't have you I would gladly go insane

[Chorus]  
Boy only you can make me feel (Only you  
can make me)  
And only you can take me there (Only you can  
take me there)  
And only you can make me feel (Only you, only  
you can make me feel)  
And only you can take me there (Only you can  
take me there)” Only You by Ashanti

 

Sometimes the sight of him is too much to bear. He said he might not remember everything, but he remembers enough.

Well, not nearly enough book boy, not nearly enough… I snort as I lift the glass again. I used to like Jack Daniels, the irony of that name- it used to make me smile.

I’m not smiling now. I can’t.

I’m well into the bottle, only a third left, but still I’m depressingly sober. When I opened the bottle, I was sure, so goddamn sure that at the bottom, I would find that elusive peace. That the dreams would never be able to force their way through that alcohol induced fog of oblivion.

He haunts me.

In this waking world, flush with his life- still the ghost of yesterday torments me. There isn’t a moment, not one granule slips through the hourglass that is not marked by him in some way. His hands, his mouth, and Christ, his voice and even his mocking laughter. Not a single night without the memory of his hands on my skin, the feeling of his rough, disturbingly knowledgeable touch. The power that he has over me, power that I gave him, my total submission.

It terrified me, but I needed it. Needed it more than the air I breathe. 

We could fight. Oh yes, the battles were harsh and fierce, violent and volcanic. But when he came to me in silence, all the problems were over and forgotten. They were washed away in the sweat of our passion, burned away in the fire only he seemed to be able to kindle in me.

I hated him for his cruelness, craved him like a drug, feared the ease with which he made me feel, the way only he could take me there to that place where the colors were sharp and my body alive with need… 

I can’t do this anymore. He’s so close, I could reach out and touch him. But I don’t. Because he wouldn’t want me to. Not now. Not after what happened. 

I watch his new self, confident and strong, walking through the gate with me almost every day and can’t help but remember. Remember the smell of his skin, the way his sweat slicked over our bodies, the strength that made me submit to him without a word, the way he felt inside of me… 

And he doesn’t remember.

I’m too old for this heat, for this obsession that dogs my every step, waking or in the dark of sleep. It’s been one and a half years since the last time we were together and still, every night I see him, feel him, miss him so much- damn it’s tearing me apart. This isn’t my first date with JD and God, it’s starting to terrify me how often I reach for the booze lately, just to sleep a few hours without the memories.

But there is something different tonight. My mind is unusually sharp and there is this sense of urgency that makes me restless, makes me walk from the kitchen to the living room, bathroom, bedroom and back to the living room, as if searching for something. 

What? I don’t know. Yes, I do know. Him. I’m searching for him, searching for something that I can’t ever have again. 

I can’t stop, so I start walking, grabbing another bottle of liquid relief on my out the door. Perhaps I’ll pass out somewhere and I won’t fucking dream. 

It’s one a.m. and I’m still hellishly lucid. But I’m standing in front of his apartment building, I should have known where my steps would take me. Maybe my head is a little fuzzy- yeah, I walked about ten miles from my house to his apartment block. I don’t feel tired, nor do I feel the cold. I know I should, damn I can see my breath coming in heated puffs. But that whiplash liquor…

I don’t know why I’m here. Of course I do, I can’t lie to myself, no matter how hard I try. But it’s easier to just concentrate on taking the steps one at a time. It would be no good for my reputation to be found sprawled on a sidewalk. Not something an Air Force Officer should do. Not at all. 

Before I know what I’m doing I find myself leaning heavily on the wall beside his door and pounding on it with my fist. 

Finally, the door opens and I see him, his hair mussed from bed, his eyes bleary and barely focused, staring at me with obvious concern. He looks… cute in an old tee shirt and those ratty sweatpants he wears to bed.

It’s one o’fucking clock in the morning on a Friday, and I have obviously woken him up, yet there is no anger in him, only confusion and concern. He steps aside letting me in, one hand rubbing his face, probably trying to wake those few billion brain cells he keeps stored in his head. 

For a brief moment, my drunken brain amuses itself with an image of row after row of tiny beds, in each one a small gray brain cell dressed in blue pajamas. Good Christ, I’m fucking lit. 

I step inside his apartment but my feet can’t hold still. I have to walk, to move, anything to keep my distance from him. My hands ache with need to reach out to him, to hold him and taste him, things I was never allowed before. 

But I don’t. I can’t.

He doesn’t remember and probably doesn’t even want to. After all, he remembers almost everything else.

“Jack?” His voice is inquiring, soft, soothing almost. Almost but not quite. But he doesn’t know that. Doesn’t know that him watching me with those soft blue eyes does nothing to calm me down, instead it makes me my blood feel like acid, my skin burns. I have no idea what I am doing here, why I am standing in his apartment in the middle of the night, clenching my fist so hard I can feel my nails cutting the skin, trying not to touch him.

“What happened Jack?”

Don’t! Don’t! Don’t! Don’t come near me! I scream at him in my mind, knowing that if I can feel the heat of him, the memory of his touch too close, too tangible, I will never be able to keep my distance. 

Daniel stops dead in his tracks, his eyes wide and luminous, flickering with something I can’t decipher and it’s only then that I realize that I spoke the words aloud. 

“Jack?” he’s unsure of me suddenly, wary even. His eyes suddenly shutter and close off. There is no chance in Hell I would be able to read him. Ever since he stopped being all glow-y he changed. I can not read him anymore, his thoughts, emotions… it’s all buried deep and closed behind a heavy door that my mind can’t unlock.

I look at him, really look at him and maybe for the first time realize just how different he is. The old tee he is wearing only shows off the well developed muscles of his shoulders and chest, his incredibly flat, six-pack stomach and I see, for the first time maybe, really see just how much physically he has changed. It’s not only the way he is quieter now, more assertive and confident with others. It’s also his physique that’s changed. Along with the strength of spirit and mind came strength of body. 

He looks so fucking hot like that, dressed in old, washed out clothes that do absolutely nothing to hide all that glorious skin from my eyes, it only highlights it for my hungry gaze.

He watches me with his eyes shadowed, and opens his mouth to say something. In that moment, something in me breaks. It breaks like a dam, a small crack, an echo of breaking plaster before the tidal wave.

It’s so wrong. 

Wrong for me to be standing here in his apartment, wrong for him to be talking to me. He should be claiming his position as the alpha, my mate, my destiny…he should be claiming me, learning every inch of my body as I know his, rather than denying me. Because that’s what it feels like, he is denying me, denying all the things we tried so hard to save.

Faster that my inebriated state should allow I cross the room and push him back. Taken aback by my sudden movement, Daniel goes with the push and stumbles, his back hitting the wall behind him. I quickly take advantage of the disorientation he is experiencing as the air is knocked out of him and capture both his wrists, twisting his hands behind his back.

Some part of me notices the delightful play of the muscles in his chest as his arms are twisted and secured behind him. There is no way he can break my hold now, not with the way I keep him just a bit off balance so he actually has to rely on me to keep him upright.

He is surprised, shocked even, but still there is no fear in him. Damn him, but he was never afraid of me, not eight years ago when I was a fucking bastard bent on committing suicide in a vaguely honorable way, not now when he knows that with my training I can kill him just as quickly and as easily as if he was a helpless child. 

But it’s not the time to think about the way Daniel never felt intimidated by me, not the time to think of all the ways he subdued me, owned me and fucking tore me apart.

Without thought, without a single moment of consideration I do what I’ve dreamed of doing all those months, about the only thing he never allowed me.

I bend down and kiss him, cover his lips with my own and taste him for the very first time in the way I want.

He is surprised but not really angry yet, as if his brain didn’t connect all the dots that have been lined up in a nice little row. I keep him immobilized and pinned to the wall while I’m obviously seducing him, yet he is not afraid. His lips are lax and soft, almost pliant in his shock as my tongue slithers along the soft flesh, slipping inside.

I want to taste him, to savor this- what was never given to me freely, but the still rational part of me knows that I have only seconds, maybe a minute before his training kicks in and beats me bloody. So I press my body against him, delighting in the warm flesh that I’ve fantasized about, lived without. I can feel his heat, burning into me like a furnace, scorching me to my very soul.

His taste explodes on my tongue, as I taste the moist cavern of his mouth, slide my tongue against his, stroke the roof of his mouth, trying desperately to elicit some kind of response. I need him, need him so fucking much… 

His scent is filling my senses, the fire of him permeating my skin and in that moment I know that no matter how long I live, he will be the only one that ever made me fee. Because without him, I’m chained to a memory.

I long to run my hands over his sculpted body, feel all those muscles, those absolutely fantastic planes and curves of his body, but I can’t. There’s no time nor permission…

After a moment, a terrifyingly short moment I can feel the change in him. All the years of military life has taught me to react long before my conscious mind kicks in, and the moment I felt his shock go away and his muscles tense I jumped away taking only the barest hint of his taste with me. 

I don’t look at him, God only knows what I would see there. It’s a cowardly thing to do, a shitty thing to do to a friend I assaulted not a moment ago, but I turn around and flee his apartment, stumbling over my own feet, drunk on alcohol, need and terror of what I have become.

 

TBC


End file.
